


(I Got You) As The World Was Ending

by jaymaisvu



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: AU-typical violence, Alternate Universe - Dystopia, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Apocalypse, Grief/Mourning, M/M, Moving On, Past Character Death, Post-Apocalypse, Slow Burn, Suna Rintarou-centric, Survivor Guilt, Trauma, Zombie Apocalypse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-01
Updated: 2021-03-10
Packaged: 2021-03-10 18:40:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,279
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28031790
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jaymaisvu/pseuds/jaymaisvu
Summary: “I’ve already lostso much,Rin. And if I lostyoutoo after all that, then—”Roughly a year after the world was overtaken by the unknown virus, Rintarou finds himself alone in the wasteland that was once Tokyo, his home. Equipped with nothing but a metal pipe and his sparse belongings, his luck finally runs out when an unexpected encounter with multiple infected result in a severe injury.Right when he’s about to welcome death with open arms however, he’s saved by two strangers and reluctantly taken into their ragtag group of survivors. Taking refuge in the group’s heavily barricaded athletic training centre, Rintarou ends up being introduced to a number of unfamiliar faces, all who hide their fear of reality behind their unique personality traits and personas. But although thankful for saving him, he has no plans to form close bonds with any of them.That is, until he starts talking and getting to know Miya Osamu, and Rintarou suddenly realizes that he would do anything and everything for the male—if that's what it took for him to stop looking so broken and empty, even when he was smiling.
Relationships: Minor or Background Relationship(s), Miya Atsumu/Sakusa Kiyoomi, Miya Osamu/Suna Rintarou
Comments: 7
Kudos: 41





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was fuelled entirely by my Sunaosa (+Sakuatsu) brainrot, courtesy of countless twitter threads and fanart I’ve seen of them and saved. Though I can’t guarantee frequent, or even weekly updates, I do intend on finishing this fic to its entirety and definitely don’t want to give up on it halfway. I already have a rough outline of the chapters and the plot is basically figured out, so people shouldn’t have to wait too long. Updates also depend on how satisfied I am on the chapter itself and its execution.
> 
>  **Warnings:** This is a zombie apocalypse au, so there is au-typical violence, injuries, mild depictions of gore, and death. If the descriptions of gore or violence are ever explicit at some point, I will definitely put warnings before the chapter and also warnings before the gory/violent section within the chapter, so _please_ read the tags and notes (if any) before reading each chapter.
> 
> This chapter itself has a fair amount of gore and violence, though I do not personally think the descriptions were /too/ explicit. However, everyone has different comfort zones and I don't want anyone to be uncomfortable so if gore/violence of any kind makes you uneasy, then I advise against reading this in general. Not all chapters will have gory or violent scenes, but this is an au that involves action and death. So _please _do not read this if any of those genres make you uncomfortable.__
> 
> I do not allow reposts of this work anywhere. If you wish to translate, please consult me first.
> 
> With that being said, please enjoy reading, and I hope you stick around for the ride! (´｡• ᵕ •｡`) ♡

Rintarou forces the door to the convenience store open with a loud hiss, other hand wrapped tightly around a busted metal pipe that was beginning to rust at the edges. He peers warily around his surroundings, stepping into the shop as broken tile crunches underfoot. 

His first thought upon entering is, _damn._

The store is ransacked and empty, for the most part. Rintarou spots torn open packages of salt crackers and ramen packages scattered on the ground. He makes a beeline for them first, stuffing the unopened ones he could find into his backpack. 

He searches for water, but doesn’t find any. Instead, he finds a package of face masks, a container of antibiotics pills, a first-aid kit and two tubes of polysporin. Rintarou stuffs all of that he can find into his backpack, sighs, and stands up.

Realistically, he should have known that Tokyo would simultaneously have the most, and least supplies possible, as well as the most infected. He peers outside the dirty window of the store, and swears that there’s blood splattered on the broken edges as he takes in the view of what was once his home. It’s utter disaster and chaos. 

Ostensibly, the sky is painted in orange and red, even midday. Bright, flickering flames seem to break out every few meters that he travels. The world is on the brink of destruction, and only few have managed to cling onto hope without losing their goddamn minds first. 

He spends the next few minutes checking the store again—once, twice, three times. Rintarou doesn’t find anything new. The pipe resting on his shoulder suddenly seems heavier. 

Rintarou runs a hand through his hair, the grease from his hair follicles stick to his fingers and it leaves an unpleasant layer on his skin. His nose scrunches at the feeling. 

He turns around, about to leave the shop and realizes that the door is farther than he thought it had been. The moment he starts walking towards it to leave and find a place to camp out for the night, three looming figures of gangly limbs and disfigured faces come into view, just outside the store. 

_Shit._

Rintarou drops to the ground, crouched and hiding behind one of the aisles further away from the door, clutching his weapon close as countless fragments of broken glass crumble and crunch under his shuffling feet.

The sounds alert the three infected as they take turns entering the empty shop, all of them wandering in and Rintarou sees first-hand just how grotesque and dismantled their bodies have become. 

There’s a stench in the air—Rintarou is unsure if it’s the smell of blood and lingering flesh from the three newcomers or if it’s death. 

He remains frozen in his position, crouched to the ground with his sole line of defense pressed to his side. Rintarou doesn’t move. The fear glues his feet to the ground as he sees and hears them dragging their legs across the tile. 

He waits. He waits. And he waits with bated breath. 

But none of them seem to move, nor do they seem to want to leave. At some point, the low growls, almost animalistic despite originally being human, cease and he doesn’t hear or see any of them moving. 

Rintarou doesn’t do anything. They seem to be suspended, frozen in place as they await for the slightest hint that there’s food nearby. The only thing he _can_ do is stop his hands from shaking.

He’s scared. He’s _fucking_ terrified.

 _Anyone would be_ , he thinks.

It’s not like it’s the first time he’s ever encountered an infected, or even multiple, this close before. But it’s different this time. This time, he’s trapped in an enclosed space where hesitation means death, and where running in any direction is no longer an option. There’s no place to hide until they leave, either. 

Rintarou knows that they’ll stay in the store unless something else catches their attention. Based on the deserted streets there were before he entered the convenience store, he doubts that something would be his saviour now.

He takes a deep, shuddering breath. It’s not like he’s afraid of dying. Getting eaten alive by three infected wouldn’t be so bad, he thinks. 

Maybe he’s just afraid of losing his humanity—losing grip of himself and reality as _he_ gets infected instead of just dying entirely. He’s afraid of forgetting. Maybe that’s all it is.

Rintarou feels the cool, smooth surface of silver in between his index finger and thumb when he reaches into his pocket and takes out a ring. His mother’s ring. He stares at it silently for a while, seeing its gleam in the light filtering from outside.

A flash of memories. It’s brief, but it causes his heart to clench in a world as hopeless as this—missing someone, missing _people_ who he would never get to see ever again. That simple fact alone means that his humanity still exists. He hasn’t gone crazy, or even lost hope.

It’s enough, he thinks. It has to be.

Rintarou tucks the ring deeply back into his pocket and adjusts his position. He remains equally crouched to the ground as before. His shoes scratch against the surface of the shop tile with every movement, nearly squeaking. 

He pushes forward, eyes scanning the area for each infected. Two of them are close to his original position, but there’s one that’s closer to him.

Its frame was smaller, skinnier than the other two. While the other two seemed to be adults, this one appeared to be a teenager. Its skin was wrinkly, hued an ugly grey colour with rotten, decaying teeth stained with blood. The remnants of its hair sat strewn and torn on its head. Its nails were chipped. Sharp.

Rintarou’s stomach flips, and he feels vomit build up in his throat.

He swallows, continuing forward and sneaking forward between aisles. He stops behind another aisle when he sees the obstacles in front of him. 

Right in front of the cracked, blood-stained window of the store, there’s dozens of glass pieces dispersed on the tile. Rintarou has a sinking feeling that he wouldn’t be able to escape the store without getting detected.

Fear looms over his body, and his arm trembles.

He reaches for a nearby glass shard carefully—big enough to throw—and doesn’t hesitate when he chucks it to the opposite end of the market. 

The glass shatters against the wall, and he hears multiple grunts and groans as a result. Feet thunder against the ground, away from him, and he’s just about to stand up and run for it, when a figure over his body causes him to freeze. 

The teenage infected from before stands a couple feet in front of him.

Rintarou stares it in the eyes, before standing up as it dashes towards him. He raises the metal pipe before the infected can touch him, and swings.

The metal hits the infected in the head forcefully with a loud bang, causing it to fall to the ground weakly. He turns around briefly, and sees the two other infected fast approaching him. The first one dives for him, and Rintarou doesn’t hesitate to dive out of the way, right into the dozens of shards of glass.

His body tumbles. It instantly registers the sharp edges tearing into his skin. The exposed skin near his ankles break and bleed onto the ground. He lets out a pained, but suppressed yell when he feels a large shard embed itself into the skin on his left shoulder.

Blood seeps from the wounds scattered all over his body. Rintarou stares at the metal pipe in his hand, dented from the first hit. It wouldn’t deliver a strong enough blow for a second. 

He scrambles to his feet weakly. The wound on his shoulder bleeds and bleeds, dripping into his shirt and on the ground. The pungent scent of blood seems to catch the two infected’s attention.

They stagger towards him with awkward footing, slower this time. One of them blocks the entrance to the door. Rintarou’s heart jumps in his throat when they get closer and closer. His feet stumble weakly, blood streaming down his left arm and ankles.

He falls back painfully, right on his rear. The wall leaves a cool kiss against his back. Rintarou exhales slowly as the two infected run towards him.

Rintarou closes his eyes, and remembers telling himself that getting eaten alive by two infected wouldn’t be so bad. Better than getting infected himself, at least.

He’s prepared for the tearing at his skin with their claws, and the gnawing of their teeth against his flesh, but it never comes. 

He opens his eyes. The infected in front of him stares at him with hungry eyes, slobber dripping down its jaw. It takes a step forward, and another. But right before it can grab him, it falls on top of him with a resounding _thump_. 

Disgust pools in Rintarou’s stomach, but the fear disappears. Its body lays directly on top of his, weak—even lifeless. Even if it’s so close to him, Rintarou knows that it’s dead.

The infected has a glimmering metal arrow pinned right in the center of the back of its head. He makes no effort to move it. He takes a look at the other one, and finds it slumped on the ground with an arrow shot right through its forehead.

Rintarou looks away from the sight, turning to the person who saved him instead.

A tall boy with dark, curly hair stands before him, an irritated look on his face. He almost looks, or _is_ , taller than Rintarou. The majority of his face is covered by a mask, but Rintarou can tell. His eyebrows are furrowed. There’s a presence of two beauty marks above his right eyebrow, and a crossbow in his right hand.

He continues to stare at him, but the male doesn’t acknowledge him at all. 

Instead, he turns to where Rintarou had bashed the teenage infected’s head in.

“Miya,” he speaks, curtly. “Did you deal with the other one?” 

Another build comes into view around the aisle, dressed in green camouflage clothing from head to toe. Even from afar, he is evidently shorter than the first guy, but his shoulders seem broader and more firm. His hair is dyed gray, but his roots seem to be returning halfway already. The two are matching exasperated expressions, but his is a little less obvious.

 _Miya_ sends the other a low glare. Rintarou notices the metal baseball bat in his hand, and sees dried blood dousing its side.

“It was already dead,” Miya explains briefly. “I bashed its head in a couple times just in case, but it won’t be gettin’ up anytime soon.”

“Good.” The curly-haired male lets out a breath, approaching Rintarou. 

Rintarou’s about to say something, but the words fall short on his tongue when he kicks the dead infected aside, and his eyes—dark pools of both deep green and obsidian—stare back at him.

It’s a few seconds of wordless staring at each other, before Rintarou ends up staring down the sharp end of an arrow instead.

He freezes. _What the fuck._

“ _Sakusa_ ,” Miya cuts in before anything else, hurrying forward next to him. “What the fuck do ya think yer doin’?”

Sakusa’s gaze bores into Miya’s. The tip of the arrow is still dangerously pointing at Rintarou’s head. “We don’t know if he’s infected or not. It’s called being careful—I don’t expect you to know how that works, Miya.”

Miya ignores his comment, and glances at Rintarou instead. They meet eyes momentarily, and he sees the gunmetal gray that matches his semi-dyed hair. His gray eyes scan him over. 

“He’s hurt. Badly,” said Miya, matter-of-fact. “What, are you just gonna ignore that fact because you _think_ he’s infected? It’s not you being _careful_ ,” he spat. “Yer just bein’ inconsiderate.”

Sakusa shoots him a glance. It’s a cold, bitter glare. “Kita-san said the priority of this patrol was getting supplies,” he responds. “I don’t remember him mentioning that we should take in other survivors and help them.” 

“He didn’t say that we shouldn’t, you fuckin’ asshole.” 

“Miya, I couldn’t care less about whatever fucking guilt you have about saving others and trying to be a hero,” Sakusa rasps. “Because as far as I know, you’ve _always_ done a shit job at it so don’t start it now.”

“It’s not about that,” hisses Miya in return. Rintarou notices that his voice sounds quieter. Almost broken and weak. “It’s about doin’ the right thing.” 

For a while, there’s silence. The crossbow is still aimed at Rintarou’s head, and he stares wordlessly at Sakusa’s finger on the trigger. One finger slip and he would be dead. The thought scares him more than he’d like to admit. 

“ _Lower_ the crossbow, Sakusa,” orders Miya. “If we take him back, Kita-san will have the final say. The least we can do is treat him if we’re gonna kick ‘im out anyway.”

Sakusa does not lower the weapon. Rintarou feels his breath hitch. He feels a little lightheaded, but he’s unsure if it’s due to the fear, exhaustion, or the blood loss. He’s willing to bet on all three, if he’s truly being honest.

“You’re willing to lay your entire life on the line for a stranger,” Sakusa deadpans, eyeing Miya quietly. “I don’t care what happens to you, Miya, and I never will—”

“Glad to see the feelin’s mutual.” 

“—but you’re willing to put the lives of the others at risk too. That’s where I draw the fucking line.”

Sakusa finally aims the crossbow elsewhere. His arm lowers, his eyes quickly meeting Rintarou’s before glaring at Miya agitatedly.

“If you want to help him, do it,” he says simply. “But don’t expect me to help you _or_ him. And don’t blame me if Kita-san ends up throwing him out regardless of your attempts at heroism.”

Miya sighs. Rintarou spots him running a hand through his hair as Sakusa turns around to leave. 

The next thing he yells causes Sakusa to stop.

“Why’re ya so against this?” He questions. “You _know_ ‘Tsumu woulda done the same thing as me in this situation, so why?” 

Sakusa doesn’t turn around completely. The male’s movements halt. His head tilts towards Miya.

“Don’t you _dare_ mention him,” snaps Sakusa, eyes alight with anger and frustration, and something else. “ _You_ of all people, shouldn’t even get to say his name.”

Miya flinches back at that. Rintarou doesn’t know who or what they’re talking about, but he can tell that it’s personal. There’s unshed emotions in both of his rescuers’ eyes. Must’ve hit a sore spot for both of them. He remains silent during the exchange, gripping his bleeding shoulder with his hand to stabilize it instead. 

“Get him up in the next five minutes,” Sakusa orders right before he leaves the store. “Or else I’m leaving you and him behind to fend for yourselves.”

A short lapse of silence washes over both of them. Rintarou continues to clutch his left shoulder with his right hand, gripping it and putting pressure around the glass shard. It’s definitely too deep to pull out right away. He briefly wonders if it’s the only thing keeping him from bleeding out at the moment. The thought makes him uncomfortable, and his vision already starts feeling hazy and blurry. He’s lost more blood in a few minutes than he has his entire life.

After a few more seconds pass, Miya gets closer to him and crouches. 

“How’re you feelin’?” He queries softly, and Rintarou’s eyes meet his. For the first time, he’s able to analyze the perfect shade of gray that they are, shimmering in the natural light. His skin is tanned, likely due to the remnants of searing heat that summer came with. If Rintarou was keeping track correctly, it was the beginning of September now. About a year since the world was reduced to nothing but suffering and misfortune.

“Just peachy,” Rintarou finally manages to say something. He chuckles, but only once. “Could be better though.” 

“That’s what I’d expect anyone with glass stuck in his shoulder to say,” Miya laughs, though it seems a bit strained. “What’s yer name?”

It takes Rintarou a while to answer him. In his head, he realizes that Miya has an accent, but can’t quite place _what_ accent, probably due to the blood loss. He feels dizzy.

“It’s Suna,” the boy answers with finality, wincing as the blood continues to fall and fall on his skin. It’s an uncomfortable feeling, and he’ll definitely need new clothes and shoes after the end of it—walking around with red-stained clothes didn’t sound appealing to him at all.

Miya exhales. “Alright, Suna,” he mumbles. “That doesn’t exactly sound like a first name,” he chuckles lightly. 

_Neither does yours_ , he wants to say. Instead, “I wasn’t planning on offering it.”

“Fair enough. I won’t force ya,” he pauses. “Can ya walk?”

“Yeah,” Rintarou utters weakly. “I think so.”

“Good,” breathes Miya. He offers Rintarou a hand, and Rintarou takes it. Compared to his cold hand, Miya’s felt warm. It was calloused and rough, but more gentle than anything else in the world. He wonders why a stranger’s hand seems so welcoming.

Miya hooks his hurting arm over his shoulder, and the two sway towards the entrance. The skin around his feet is split open and bleeding, and just about every part of his body feels sore. Rintarou takes a glance at Miya—he notices their slight height difference and how the male was the perfect height for an arm rest. They lurch towards the door, where a figure resembling Sakusa stands on watch, turned away from them.

Rintarou looks away. He’s the one who's injured and bleeding on the dusty tile with every step he takes, but Miya is the one who appears like he’s having a hard time.

**────────**

Rintarou doesn’t know how many blocks the three of them have passed by. His arm is still loosely wrapped around Miya’s, propped uncomfortably on his broad shoulders. His eyes are half-lidded and tired, but his feet manage to drag against the ground regardless. Sakusa walks a few feet ahead of them, crossbow in hand. Surprisingly, they haven’t run into that many infected. There were a couple. Four or five—all who met a similar fate that involved metal arrows. 

Sakusa was an unbelievably good shot, Rintarou noticed. He didn’t miss a single target, tearing the arrow out of their flesh and returning the shafts back into his arsenal right afterwards.

He turns around every few minutes or so, likely to check if him and Miya were still following close by, and frowns when he sees that they still are. Miya was severely handicapped with Rintarou injured on his shoulder, so his melee weapon wouldn’t do much.

“You’ve almost died several times,” points out Rintarou blankly, sometime after Sakusa’s sixth or seventh victim as Miya trudges on. “I’m burdening you, aren’t I? You don’t have to do this, you know.” 

Miya sighs, then laughs. He meets Rintarou’s eyes with a stubborn gaze. 

“I know,” he murmurs. “‘M not doin’ this for you.”

Rintarou blinks, nods, and then turns away. He pretends that he knows exactly what the male means.

The conversation dies out, and Rintarou makes no effort to continue it.

**────────**

When they finally stop, the sun has already fallen down from its apex and has begun to nearly set on the horizon. Rintarou would wager it's around 4 or 5 o’clock, but he wouldn’t know for sure unless he had a phone on him.

He finds himself staring up at an athletic training centre on the outskirts of Tokyo. It’s large, and it looms above their frames, casting a shadow over their bodies. The sun is drowned out in the building’s bricks. He spots, through heavy eyes, that all the windows that can be seen are covered and barricaded from the inside with planks of wood. It’s a safe house. Or, at the very least, the safest a house can be in a world zombies now ruled.

Sakusa makes a straight path towards one of the side entrances, and him and Miya follow. His feet feel heavy, and the backpack weight on his shoulders causes it to ache.

He watches as Sakusa knocks on the door—once, twice, three times—followed by another three. It’s quick and rhythmical, and it doesn’t take long for the two doors to open after some metallic groans on the other side.

A tall male stands in front of them, around their age, and a wooden bat decorated with nails sits in the palm of his right hand. His hair was white and black, and his eyes, gold and bright, looked almost owlish as he peered at them. At the sight of Sakusa, a foreign beam sits on his lips. It appeared to be a smile of relief, or maybe just excitement. Even in this world, someone like this still existed. It was almost refreshing, but only slightly.

“Sakusa! Myaa-sam!” He says, by way of greeting. “You two are finally back, I’ll let Kita know—” The boy stops, and they make eye contact. “—who’s that?” 

“Extra baggage we managed to pick up along the way,” explains Sakusa briefly, entering the facility. “Or at the very least, extra baggage _Miya_ managed to pick up along the way.” 

Miya and him filter in the centre quickly, and Rintarou nearly feels his legs give out underneath him. 

“Huh,” the stranger says, shutting the two doors close and positioning several planks of metal in front of him. “You look pretty roughed up,” he notes absentmindedly to him, gold orbs scanning the expanse of his body and the red fluid dripping down his clothes. “Might have to do with that glass stuck in your shoulder.”

 _What makes you think that?_ Rintarou wants to ask, but doesn’t. Or rather, he can’t. 

“Now that I look at all of ya,” he adds. “You all look pretty bad. What happened out there?”

Sakusa glances at the two of them. The perpetual frown on his face worsens. “I’m sure Miya would love to explain it to you,” he answers, taking a disinfectant wipe when the new guy hands him one, and wiping blood off an arrow. “And to Kita-san, specifically.”

Miya looks down at his feet, but Rintarou doesn’t see shame.

“Well, I’m sure Kita will be fine with having more people around!” The guy reassures Miya, patting him on the shoulder.

Sakusa glares, throwing the bloody wipe away in a nearby trash can and turning around from the three. “Go and explain this to Kita-san after you get him treated,” he orders. “Don’t blame me for whatever happens next.” 

He leaves. The other guy peers back at the two of them. 

He smiles, laughing widely. “Don’t worry too much about Sakusa,” he exclaims. “He’s just like that, especially after everything that’s happened. And Myaa-sam, well, you should be used to this by now.” 

Miya simply nods in understanding, but he doesn’t talk about Sakusa any longer. His tone seems brighter, like a great load had been lifted with Sakusa’s departure.“Bokuto, go tell Keiji-kun to get his stuff ready for treatment.” 

“Hmm? Oh, sure!” 

Bokuto, as Rintarou had just heard, nods towards him and bounds off quickly. Right after he leaves, Rintarou feels his body sway, and his knees nearly give out underneath him again. Thankfully, Miya’s vice grip on his arm prevents him from doing so. 

“Are ya good?” He questions, firm but soft.

Rintarou gets by with a simple nod of his head. It’s enough for Miya, as the two already begin their trek in the direction that Bokuto went, likely towards a makeshift infirmary of some sort. 

The hallways are lit dimly by lights, and it surprises Rintarou when he realizes that they still have power. He didn’t think electricity was still coursing through the city, but perhaps this place was an exception, or perhaps, the _only_ exception. If so, these guys hit the gold mine when they were finding a safe place to stay. 

His consciousness is fading from the exhaustion of the day alone. It doesn’t help that he’s injured, and maybe infected with just bacteria from the shard already digging into the dry and cracked skin of his shoulder.

Rintarou’s eyelids began to fall. His body heaves with every weak footstep he takes forward. Miya seems to carry him easily, whether or not he’s unconscious. 

As he teetered on the edge of consciousness, his eyes caught Miya’s for the umpteenth time that day. Miya stared back at him—pools of coin grey gazing back into his as they walked. He thinks about what Miya must think of him right now, and what he must look like to him at the moment. Nothing but a mess, most likely. He doesn’t know why he even cares, when Miya doesn’t look the greatest himself. There’s dirt smudged on his boyish face, and his hair looks greasy, but he manages to make it look good in a _‘oh I survived the zombie apocalypse’_ sort of way.

“I’ve got ya,” Miya whispers slowly, holding him up as they walk through the hallways of the training centre. He readjusts their position, pulling Rintarou up slightly and laying a warm hand against his own to make sure he stays fastened around his shoulders.

Miya exhales as they walk, uncaring if Rintarou’s blood-stained clothes touched his relatively clean ones. On the other hand, Rintarou feels his eyes droop tiredly but tries to stay awake for Miya’s sake rather than his own.

“Yer gonna be okay,” he hears Miya utter.

Rintarou’s eyes close for a moment. 

A small part of him wonders if Miya was talking to him, or if he was talking to himself.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! So uhm—this chapter is really long overdue since I last updated more than two months ago, but here it is! To be completely honest, life got in the way and I couldn't update. That, and this chapter was really hard to write because I was experimenting a lot with new characters and their different dialogues and dynamics. Also, there are brief mentions of medical procedures and I did /some/ research for those scenes but please don't take any of the medical stuff seriously. If anything is extremely wrong though, please feel free to tell me about it in the comments so I can fix it accordingly.
> 
> This chapter is about 8k, I think, if the word count is reliable. I hope this chapter, which is about twice as long as the last one, makes up for the last two months but to be honest, I don't think it will. Regardless, please enjoy this extremely long chapter that is also more of a set-up chapter for future events rather than a Sunaosa development chapter :') I apologize if this chapter is boring but it's important! So I hope everyone is still able to read it. You might need a refresher of the first chapter before reading this one.

It feels like an eternity has passed when Rintarou arrives at two large double doors with Miya’s help. His body feels numb, and he’s almost thankful that he lost feeling in his bleeding arm a long time ago. Compared to other wounds a person could get during a time like this, split skin and a bleeding shoulder shouldn’t seem too bad. It still hurt like hell, though.

Miya pushes the doors open with his free arm, revealing two people inside. 

One is Bokuto. He’s standing next to a shorter male with tousled black hair and a pretty shade of aquamarine for eyes. Rintarou registers the difference between him and the rest of their group almost instantly. In contrast to the others, he was smaller and skinnier in build, appearing delicate and elegant despite being nearly 6 feet tall. That was Rintarou’s impression of him at first sight, but the unfamiliar male probably could have snapped Rintarou’s neck in two if he wanted.

Miya supports him as they walk into the room, the warmth of his hands providing an odd feeling of reassurance.

“Set him down over there,” orders the stranger calmly.

Bokuto hooks Rintarou’s arm over his shoulder and the two drag him over to a couch with less than desirable stuffing. They set him down gently, and Rintarou finds his body sinking automatically.

The couch didn’t feel very plush against his rear, but it felt like sitting on a pile of clouds when he recalled all those days he spent sitting on the rough cobblestone in Tokyo, hidden under some sort of underpass.

Rintarou shrugs off the backpack around his shoulders, and Miya moves to assist him. Once it’s off, the boy sets it down on the ground next to his feet for him.

“You don’t have to worry about anything,” Bokuto reassures with a smile. “I trust Akaashi with my life. He’s patched up tons of injuries here before—he’s super smart like that.”

Rintarou finds a weight lift slightly off his shoulders. Bokuto’s reassurance was, thankfully, _actually_ reassuring. He didn’t seem like the type to lie for the sake of it, if the infectious beam on his face was any indication.

“I took a couple first-aid classes in high school, Bokuto-san,” Akaashi reminds the white-haired male. “I’m no expert.”

 _“Akaashi!”_ Bokuto reprimands. Rintarou can see the fondness in both of their eyes when they look at each other—exchanging mutually soft expressions. “It’s a couple more than everyone else here, and that’s what matters.” He responds genuinely. 

Even with the correction, Rintarou still doesn’t feel too nervous. He knows it’ll hurt, but maybe less with Akaashi tending to him. Miya’s gaze is on him, perhaps to gauge his reaction to Akaashi’s clarification. Regardless, Rintarou thinks he’s doing a pretty good job of letting him know—silently—that he’s okay. 

Miya speaks up, eyes staring at Akaashi’s figure from a distance away. “It’ll be fine,” he breathes softly. “I trust ya, Keiji-kun.”

“I’ll do my best,” answers Akaashi after a beat of silence.

The boy approaches him, pulling along a small metal cart with medical supplies. Bokuto and Miya move out of the way for him, and he pulls a wooden stool right next to Rintarou’s left shoulder.

“One of you should keep him still,” murmurs Akaashi carefully as he inspects the wound. Miya moves before Bokuto can, pressing a firm hand against his other shoulder and the other squeezes his arm. “It won’t take long to take it out, but it’ll be painful. The rest of your wounds are smaller, so they should be fine but,” he stops, lips stretched into a thin line.

“But what?” Rintarou manages to choke out weakly.

Akaashi looks down at his supplies. “I don’t have painkillers or antibiotics in case the germs in your body infect you. I only have a small roll of bandages and some smaller ones that I can use for your smaller wounds. This—” he picks up the roll of bandages, “—might not be enough right now. We also need antibiotic ointment for your injuries—”

Before the male can ramble any longer, Rintarou kicks the backpack on the ground next to his foot. “There should be some in there,” he utters.

Miya lets go for a second, unzipping the bag and sifting through the contents. When his hands appear again, he’s taking out the first-aid kit, antibiotics pills and the polysporin. 

Akaashi accepts them gratefully, opening up the first-aid kit and all of them are pleasantly surprised to see that it’s full of useful supplies and tools.

“This should do it,” exhales Akaashi, taking out the necessary supplies and setting them down on the metal cart.

Rintarou watches wordlessly as he fits on a pair of medical gloves, washing his covered hands with a new water bottle and disinfectant soap over a bucket. Miya’s hands find his way back to his other shoulder and arm, holding him firmly in place. He sees Akaashi take out a sharp pair of tweezers and apply rubbing alcohol to them, before he’s turning back around with them in hand.

There’s an apologetic look on Akaashi’s face as he pulls the stool closer to the couch. “Right after I pull this out, you’ll start bleeding out for a bit. That’s a good thing—it’ll flush out a majority of the germs in your body,” he explains. 

Panic flashes in Rintarou’s eyes. Miya’s hand on his shoulder subconsciously tightens.

“After that happens, I’ll apply a bit of pressure to the wound to stop the bleeding completely and then I’ll stitch it together. And then you can take some antibiotics pills so you don’t risk infection.” A short pause. “It might leave a scar.” 

“It’s fine,” Rintarou mutters. “Just get it out of me.” 

Akaashi nods obediently, positioning his tweezers right around the thin, but particularly large, piece of glass embedded in his shoulder. 

“You might not want to watch,” he warns. “It may hurt quite a bit. Please refrain from moving around too much as well.”

The male closes his eyes, wincing. He lets out a low, but suppressed groan from the back of his throat the moment he feels Akaashi get to work. 

**────────**

About a half hour later, Rintarou finds himself sinking further into the couch. His body feels more numb than before, wrapped in bandages, layered with medical gauze and salve. But he’s alive, and no longer bleeding out, so he avoided death. At least for now. Maybe he should just be thankful for that. 

His shirt and pants are torn, slicked with sweat and blood. The grease from his hair seems to have multiplied tenfold, sticking to his scalp uncomfortably as he attempts to sift a hand through the dark brown locks.

“Here,” says Miya, holding a glass of water in his hand. He had taken a pair of pills and downed them with water only a few minutes ago, and then ended up asking for another glass right afterwards.

Rintarou takes it from him shakily with his uninjured arm, bringing the glass to his lips and drinking slowly. He throws all caution to the wind when the cool liquid meets his mouth and he starts to down it completely in the following seconds.

“Thanks,” he replies, wiping the remnants of the water from his lip. “Where’s Akaashi-san?” 

Miya glances towards the door. “He went to wash up and change, I think,” he answers. “Bokuto went with ‘im to help out—whatever that’s s’posed ta mean.”

“They seem to be close,” Rintarou notes, more to himself than anything.

A knowing smile splits onto his acquaintance’s face regardless. “Ya can tell, huh?” 

“I haven’t known them for that long,” hums Rintarou, leaning back against the couch tiredly. “But they speak a lot through their actions.” 

“Yeah. They’ve known each other since high school. They think they’re bein’ real subtle about their relationship but basically everyone already knows,” says Miya, folding his arms across his chest and beaming lazily. “It’s sorta funny how hard they’re tryin’ though so we don’t bug ‘em about it.”

“Probably for the best,” murmurs Rintarou. _Better not remind them that they might end up losing each other one day_ , he wants to say. He doesn’t, because it would be insensitive and rude. Maybe in the past he would have said some snarky or crude remark about a friend’s light misfortune—jokingly—but not now. Not when the current circumstances were as delicate and serious as this one. 

Miya seems to understand without Rintarou elaborating though, because he says, “Sometimes that kinda thing is exactly what ya need right now.”

Rintarou peers up into Miya’s gray eyes, which appear earnest but slightly distant. He looks away slowly, tapping a finger against the side of his empty glass. “Maybe for some,” he answers, vague. “That sort of thing isn’t for everyone.”

Miya glances at the floor, exhaling through his nose. “Yeah, I s’pose there’s some truth to that.” Once again, his eyes are distant, some far away place that Rintarou has no prior knowledge of—not that it’s any of his business in the first place.

The atmosphere in the room becomes slightly tense and awkward. Rintarou opens his mouth to speak in order to repair the situation when Miya makes no move to, but is interrupted by a shrill exclamation when Bokuto re-enters the room. 

“Myaa-sam,” he addresses. “Kita said—he, uh—wants to see you now.”

Miya blinks dumbly at the white-haired male for a moment, his arms unfolding across his chest silently. “What’d he say exactly?”

Bokuto scratches the back of his head. “Well, he said that he wants to see all of us, actually. Emergency meeting and whatnot,” he peers around Miya’s frame, and Rintarou and him make eye contact. “—he said he wants to see you too, if you’re feeling good enough to go.”

Rintarou shifts in place, and finds that he can move adequately enough. It’s stiff and sweaty underneath the multiple layers of bandages, but he could still stand and walk. 

He wasn’t too keen about meeting ‘ _Kita-san’_ , judging by how Sakusa was reprimanding Miya and him about an hour ago, but he would if he was asked. “I can go—”

“—he’s hurt. I don’t see why Kita-san would want to see him when he’s just goin’ to scold me.” The gray-haired boy in front of him interjects before anything else can be said. “Let him rest. We’ll go to the meetin’ without him.” 

Abruptly, Rintarou stops shifting out of the stained couch chair, glancing up at the back of Miya’s head, slightly perplexed.

“The thing is, Kita didn’t sound like this was up for negotiation,” explains Bokuto. “He wants to see the two of you now,” he states, voice lowering uncharacteristically. “You know how it is around here, Myaa-sam. What Kita says, goes.” 

Rintarou spots the agitated flare in Miya’s frame seconds before disaster. He can tell from Bokuto’s tone that if both of them were good enough to attend the meeting, then he wasn’t taking no for an answer as well. It almost scared him—this abrupt change in character that seemed to make complete sense to him when he examined the sharpness of Bokuto’s eyes and the calloused ridges of his palms from afar. Those hands couldn’t possibly belong to someone who was afraid of violence. And using it, for that matter. 

Before Miya could do anything reckless, Rintarou forced himself to stand up, moving his legs as he felt his bandages fold awkwardly and tighten around his skin. 

“I’m good enough to go,” the injured male cuts in swiftly, limping until he was standing next to the slightly shorter boy. “There’s no need to argue about it when it’s obvious.” 

Rintarou meets Miya’s gray eyes. He sees uncertainty swimming in them, clears his throat, and then turns back to Bokuto, who’s smile has returned. 

“If you can walk on your own, I’ll lead the way!” offers Bokuto, eyes closing into a positive beam. 

He nods wordlessly to that, watching as the owl-like boy began to walk out of the room. Rintarou saw him hold one of the doors open to him, as he limped towards it. A pathetic feeling of embarrassment churns in his stomach as he struggles to do so, nearly falling over if not for Miya appearing to steady him.

“I’ll help ya,” says Miya earnestly.

Rintarou shifts away from the male awkwardly, suddenly finding himself balancing better than before. “It’s fine,” he murmurs. 

_You’ve already done enough,_ Rintarou wants to add. 

He ultimately doesn’t, opting to glance at Miya subtly from the corner of his eye as the two of them made their way slowly to the opened door, where Bokuto was waiting for them. 

Rintarou sees the way the boy’s jaw is clenched uncomfortably, and it only makes an anxious feeling bloom in his chest as he staggers next to him, unable to say another word. 

**────────**

After wandering past multiple hallways and various other closed doors, the three make it to the designated meeting spot, with Bokuto filling in the empty silence, humming the tune of a vaguely familiar pop song. It was likely released more than a year ago.

Rintarou doesn’t personally recognize it specifically, but he remembers hearing something like it on the radio once, during simpler times. Those simpler times where his biggest problem was whether or not eating ten chuupets in one sitting was a good idea. He definitely took all of those moments—as trivial as they may have been—for granted.

The three of them stand in front of two doors—ones that vaguely remind Rintarou of the doors to the teacher’s offices at school. He assumes it was the place where the national team coaches would go to do paperwork or take private phone calls, if needed during a training camp. Bokuto throws a glance towards him and Miya over his shoulder, golden eyes scanning the two of them owlishly, before pushing one of the doors open. Rintarou is about to walk forward as well when Miya stops him with a hand around his wrist, a serious look on his face. 

Rintarou stares from the wrist on his uninjured arm, paired with the feeling of the male’s fingers wrapped around it, for a while before meeting Miya’s steel eyes.

“Wait outside—” starts Miya quietly, sucking in a breath. “—for a bit.” There’s a bounce of silence that passes in between them as the boy wets his mouth nervously. “I’ll come an’ get ya after I explain everythin’ to the others.” 

He’s about to object; protest that Bokuto was going to come out and look for the two of them at any moment now. Rintarou shuts his mouth instead when he sees the earnesty and concern in Miya’s eyes, agreeing wordlessly with a nod of his head. 

Relief passes through the familiar coin gray before Miya steps in front of him, entering the room cautiously. Rintarou gets a quick look at some of the individuals’ clothes inside, but doesn’t get a good enough view to determine how many people are inside or what they looked like. It only served to cause the uneasy feeling in his stomach to fester. 

He finds himself leaning against the wall to the left of the door, unable to hear any conversations going on inside of the room. If he does hear any sounds, it’s mostly garbled and faint speech that he’s largely unable to discern. Rintarou closes his eyes, remaining against the smooth, white wall. It sent icy pricks against his skin when his bare neck touched it.

It’s maybe ten minutes later when the meeting room door is being pulled open from the inside. Rintarou pushes himself off the wall, olive eyes peering expectantly as he waits for Miya to come outside to get him.

Instead, an unfamiliar male emerges from inside the room. There’s a stern expression on his face, eyebrows slightly furrowed and it directly contrasts the surprised look on Rintarou’s.

The male is slightly taller than him, and Rintarou recognizes that he probably still would be even if Rintarou was standing upright with perfect posture. Even with the layer of his green camouflage jacket overtop a plain black shirt, he notices the prominent muscles of his arms and the broadness of his chest and shoulders. Previously, Bokuto, and even Miya’s build had been impressive to him. Miya seemed to retain a sort of boyish charm to him though—round and soft features that told of his youth even without it being explicitly said. 

This guy was on a completely different level. 

He had the makings of someone who consistently worked out and didn’t cut corners. He was—objectively—attractive too. With dark brown, olive-ish hair that sat on his head naturally, strong facial features and unreadable, but pretty olive eyes, he was definitely good-looking.

The male doesn’t say anything. Instead, he motions with his hand to enter the room. Rintarou would never admit it, but there’s a layer of goosebumps on his arms as he relents to the boy’s actions. He was intimidating, with an overwhelming amount of presence. Was this guy _‘Kita-san?’_

Rintarou limps in, a hand going to his shoulder to soothe the slight burning sensation. Behind him, he can sense the intimidating boy from before walking in after him. There’s the familiar shut of the door, and Rintarou almost flinches at the sound. He doesn’t know why.

Inside, Rintarou automatically looks around the room, weirdly cozy. There was an array of smaller couch chairs of better quality than the one he’d been seated in before, a few people occupying them. The windows were boarded off with wooden planks. Most of the people present were standing, eyeing him carefully.

For some sort of cleared out office room that was likely used by the training centre’s staff, it was much nicer than one would have expected.

His eyes peer to the people this time. There’s a ginger with unruly hair, sitting next to a taller boy with straight black hair on the couches. Both of them looked far too young—especially in comparison to the burly guy who got him to enter the room.

Rintarou sees Bokuto and Akaashi next, huddled together in one corner of the room.

There’s numerous other characters in the room, looking as if they’ve popped straight out of some sort of action anime. Two boys, one with light brown hair and round eyebrows and the other with short, shaggy sand grey hair stand together, opposite to Bokuto and Akaashi. Rintarou makes out a smudge of blood on the collar of the guy with the unique eyebrows, and he involuntarily feels bile rise in his throat.

Rintarou takes a discreet look over his shoulder. The male from before is standing in front of the door like some sort of bouncer at a club, as if Rintarou was in any position to run at the moment.

When he looks back at the other people in the room, he realizes that Miya isn’t present. Neither is Sakusa. He notices the extra door, obscured a little due to it being the same colour as the wall, and can hear the muffled voices on the other end. Nobody’s shouting, but the agitation is clear as day. He recognizes one as Miya. The other one is flat and cold—Sakusa. There are two more voices that cut in every once in a while, but they’re unfamiliar.

Nobody dares to speak. It’s silent and awkward, especially with the extra pairs of eyes analyzing his every move, as if he was some sort of threat. Rintarou never liked to draw attention to himself, so the uncomfortable feeling in the pit of his stomach wasn’t anything new.

A couple of minutes later, there’s the soft rattle of a doorknob, and the door to the other room begins to open.

Rintarou watches the door closely. The two sitting on the couches have begun to sit up straight in their seats. Everyone in the room was alert.

Miya walks into the room first. There’s an unreadable expression on the boy’s face, eyes trained to the ground. 

Behind him, Sakusa saunters inside, the perpetual frown on his face still evident even with his white surgical mask. Rintarou meets his gaze for a moment—cold and calculating—before Sakusa’s eyes snap away from his. The light brown-haired boy from before ends up waving him over, and Rintarou is slightly surprised to see the gloomy boy comply and stand next to him.

Rintarou’s gaze returns to Miya’s, who he finds to already be staring back at him. The gray-haired male approaches his side quickly, face contorting in confusion.

“Didn’t I tell ya to wait outside?” He questions in a hushed whisper, standing close enough so their shoulders are brushing.

Rintarou gestures to the boy standing in front of the door. “I didn’t really have a choice,” he replies quietly.

Miya follows his hand, eyes flashing in realization, before his chest heaves and he sighs. “I already explained everythin’ to Kita-san,” he murmurs. “So he already knows everythin’ from Sakusa and me. Him and Aran-kun are talkin’ in there—about ya—right now.”

 _About what to_ do _with me, you mean?_

“Just don’t talk unless Kita-san talks to ya directly, okay?” breathes Miya, a little stressfully.

Rintarou nods compliantly, hoping that his compliance would get the grey-haired male to relax a bit. Though, there was nothing else he could do but agree to everything that he was telling him either way. Miya was the only one he felt relatively comfortable around at the moment.

The door opens a few moments later. Rintarou doesn’t know what ‘ _Kita-san_ ’ looked like in the slightest, but who comes through the door is nothing like what he expected.

A lean, but muscular young man walks in. There's an air of confidence and pride to him, but not in an arrogant way. His hair was mainly white but its edges are black. Sharp but dull brown eyes gleam in the sunlight peeking through the wooden planks of the windows. A much taller boy with shaved dark brown hair and startlingly beautiful blueish gray eyes walks in close behind him.

The air suddenly feels heavier, pricked with an indescribable tension as all eyes remained tentative on the two new individuals, silently following their movements. Rintarou squints at the two of them. 

Both of them were intimidating in a way—either one could be ‘ _Kita-san_ ’. He had a feeling that the first male, with his blank but serious stare, fit the description and aura of the name more, however.

“Osamu,” the white-haired boy begins, standing in front of all the others, while his companion took place slightly behind him. Rintarou subconsciously takes a long gander around the room to figure out who the male is speaking to, only to realize that he’s looking directly in his and Miya’s direction.

More specifically, he was staring directly atMiya.

_Osamu._

That was his first name then. _Osamu._

_Miya Osamu._

Rintarou examines his side profile—the rogue boyishness to his features and the sharpness of his jawline despite the slight chubbiness to his cheeks. He sees the dirt still smudged on his face and on the bridge of his nose. He’s a little bit closer now, so Rintarou is able to see the miniscule features that made up the boy’s face. For some weird reason, he couldn’t imagine his first name being anything else _other_ than Osamu now.

From the corner of his eye, he watches as Miya’s gaze becomes more resolute. “Kita-san,” he says, almost by way of greeting, despite having talked to their leader moments prior. At the very least, addressing him cleared up all the confusion Rintarou had about who their leader was. 

“You’re Suna, then?” Kita’s calm voice snaps Rintarou out of whatever stupor he had been in previously, his olive eyes awkwardly meeting the leader’s own. He feels himself gulp down a lump that had formed in his throat.

“I am,” he manages to answer.

Kita’s eyes narrow at him. It’s such a small movement that Rintarou would’ve missed it if he wasn’t staring back at him just as precisely. “I see,” is all he says.

There’s a short silence, permeating the room in even more tension than before, before Kita’s voice is reeling everyone back in.

“Osamu and Sakusa already explained everything to me,” Kita cuts in sternly. His gaze flits between the two, who were conveniently avoiding his eyes by staring elsewhere. “They had...very different opinions.” 

_Well, no surprise there._

“Unfortunately, Aran and I were unable to come up with a solution that would please both sides,” the male states, authoritative. “That’s why I have to ask you, Suna—” His tone becomes even more serious, if that were possible.

“—how sure are you that you’re not infected?”

At this, nearly everyone’s heads began to turn to look at him expectantly.

Rintarou blinks at Kita, throat going dry. He was sure that he wasn’t. Akaashi would’ve seen some sort of infection wound when he was patching him up. His mouth opened to say this, but no words seemed to audibly escape.

“Kita-san, I already ‘splained this to ya,” Miya interjects, almost immediately, but not without respect. “Keiji-kun already treated ‘im—we didn’t see any wounds of his that looked like a bite or scratch.”

Kita’s gaze remained unwavering at Miya’s words. He turned to Akaashi. “Akaashi, is this true?” 

Akaashi, slightly surprised at being addressed, perked up from his position next to Bokuto. “Yes,” he answered easily. “He did not seem to have any injuries that involved a bite or scratch mark of any kind. He also did not show any symptoms of being infected. However—”

“—we did not check every part of his body. Only the parts we needed to check, so it’s possible that there may have been something we missed.”

“He’d already be showin’ signs of turnin’ by now if that were the case,” protests Miya. Rintarou remains silent at his side. There’s an agitated spike in his voice that has Rintarou’s stomach churning, and his wounds burning. Suddenly, the ground seems very interesting to look at.

“The time it takes to turn is different for everyone.” This time, it’s Sakusa who speaks, slicing icily into the room. He turns his head, onyx eyes staring at Miya. “Don’t tell me you forgot that.”

“Twenty-four hours,” is his response. “That’s how long it takes for them to turn completely. They start showin’ symptoms a couple hours before the twenty-four hour mark. It’s been several hours since we found ‘im. He would be turnin’ right now, based on what yer sayin’, Sakusa.”

Rintarou closes his eyes. The edge to Miya’s voice is prominent, and it sounds like he’s trying extremely hard to keep it level. He wonders if it’s a normal occurrence for arguments like this to break out, or if it’s just because of _him._

_Him. Him. Him._

Maybe he should just leave. Maybe he was overstaying his welcome already, by simply being here, in a room of assorted strangers—a group of assorted strangers who knew each other, were familiarized with each other’s faces, names, and personalities. 

A nobody like him—a stray—didn’t belong here. And that was becoming obvious now, judging by how his presence alone had caused this much unease and unnecessary anger. 

“Boys,” Kita cuts in, tearing Miya and Sakusa away from each other before any punches would be thrown. Rintarou peers around the group warily. All of them look largely placid, as if tensions running high between the two males were normal, but their faces continue to hold some sort of apprehension to them. 

Rintarou shoots Sakusa a discreet glance. His shoulder is being pulled back by the light-haired guy with the circular eyebrows, the boy whispering something to him at the same time. Sakusa reluctantly relents after this action, remaining stiffly at the male’s side, avoiding everyone else’s wary stares. 

The next time Kita is speaking, he’s addressing Rintarou once again. Rintarou snaps out of his reverie at the sound of his voice. It was sharp like the switchblade he could have sworn was tucked into the pants pocket of one of the guys in the room.

“Suna, yer word isn’t going to cut it, unfortunately.” Kita says. His words are laced a little thicker with that familiar dialect he had heard Miya’s voice with this time around. Compared to Miya though, his dialect was a little more subtle, but it was there all the same.

There’s a contemplative expression on Kita’s face. His eyes close as if attempting to focus on something while the room was in complete chaos. It wasn’t. Everyone was silent, on the edges of their seats, and Rintarou felt his shoulder throbbing, his hand shivering. He swallowed, and the reality that he shouldn’t even be _here,_ if not for Miya’s unnecessary kindness and compassion, settles deep into his stomach. 

He feels guilty. There had been something going on between Miya and Sakusa beforehand—that much he can deduce from the interactions he’s seen take place between them so far—but his presence had made it so much worse. In a world like this, people couldn’t— _shouldn’t_ turn on each other. It was at a time like this, where individuals needed to rely on others the most.

Even if _he_ didn't have anyone to rely on, Rintarou wasn’t about to break the entire relationship and dynamic of _this_ group apart, even if it felt like it was already tearing at the seams, and the only thing keeping it together was Kita.

Rintarou wants to leave. His lips part to say something but then—

“Don’t make ‘im leave, Kita-san.” Miya’s voice comes from his side, catching everyone else’s attention. Rintarou peers at him wordlessly, a feeling of frustration bubbling in his stomach. 

_Stop. Stop defending me._

“Please, just trust me,” he says, eyes glossing over with something unreadable. “If he was already turnin’, ya _know_ he woulda been showin’ symptoms by now, ‘gardless of whatever rules Sakusa said before.”

Miya looks up at the group leader, gaze resolute, but melancholic. “I’m not askin’ this as a favour from ya.” he mutters. “Neither am I askin’ ya to do this for _me_ specifically, either.”

“Do this cause ya care—about people, about people in need. If anythin’ happens, I’ll shoulder all the blame on my own. I’ll carry that guilt if anyone in here gets hurt or infected because of Suna, even though I know e’ryone here is capable of defendin’ themselves. I’ll take responsibility for everythin’ that involves ‘im.”

Rintarou stares at Miya. That’s all he can really do.

“And if yer not gonna do it for that,” Miya licks his lips nervously, as if anxious to bring up the next topic. “Then ya know who you should be doin’ it for.”

There’s a new type of silence that permeates the air after that statement. Rintarou doesn’t question it in the slightest. In a group as large as this, there was bound to be losses. Not everyone was going to live, and it had become painfully obvious with the guilt rushing on everyone’s faces. 

Kita’s face hardens at that. From the corner of his eye, Rintarou spots Sakusa’s glare from a mile away. But a hand rests on his shoulder, and his onyx eyes dull. His shoulders noticeably sag, and he looks much smaller, more vulnerable, than before.

The leader of the group sighs quietly. It’s only then that Rintarou notices the slight eye bags and circles under his eyes—a stark contrast to his skin. His eyes close, and he breathes in a couple times. Rintarou thinks he’s dissecting the entirety of Miya’s speech at the moment in his head. He looks exhausted. Despite his regal entrance and presence, he was clearly still young. Maybe not much older than Rintarou or Miya, or really, _anyone_ in this room.

A boy, only a year or two older than him, shouldn’t have had to shoulder the burden of eleven peoples’ lives, including himself, on his own.

The tall, dark-haired male behind Kita lightly grabs his shoulder, a look on his face. “Shin, don’t overexert yourself,” he says quietly, but it’s audible in the silent room.

“I’ll be fine,” Kita responds quickly. Rintarou doesn’t miss the way his hand goes to lightly grab the hand on his shoulder. “Thank you, Aran.” 

It’s a tender moment, and Rintarou feels like he’s looking at something too intimate and personal. Everyone else doesn’t shy away from it though, so he thinks it must be a normal occurrence as well.

The white-haired boy peers up. His hand lets go of Aran’s, and he faces both him and Miya again, appearing a little more rejuvenated compared to before. He sighs, chest heaving before his dull brown eyes are looking straight into Rintarou’s. His gaze switches from him to Miya briskly.

“I’m going to trust you, Osamu.” He says calmly. 

The room buzzes with murmurs of both indignation and relief. Rintarou isn’t paying hard enough attention to tell who’s reacting what way. All that he’s staring at is Miya, and the relieved appearance of his face. His grey eyes have lit up at the news.

“But on two conditions,” continues Kita authoritatively. The murmurs around the group die down at his voice, wanting to hear what he has to say.

“One,” he starts. “If Suna is actually infected and ends up hurtin’ or infectin’ one of us too, it will _not_ be only on you. It will be on me as well. Should this happen, we will shoulder the blame together. I’m not willing to let the guilt eat you alive on your own.”

Miya nods. “I understand.”

“Two,” Kita resumes. “Due to the remaining distrust in this room, and to satisfy both sides of the group, Suna will have to sleep on the roof tonight. He’ll be provided with the proper sleeping bag and blankets, but the door to the main building should remain locked. That way, we’ll know whether he really is infected or not. In the morning, someone appropriate for the job will be there to check on him first—” he pauses. “—and get rid of him, if need be.”

Rintarou’s blood runs cold at the mention of that. He _wasn’t_ infected, that much he was sure of, so he didn’t really have anything to worry about. But the thought of dying, without his humanity intact in the slightest, was unpleasant.

This time, Miya’s agreement is solemn. “I understand.”

Kita looks around the room. “Does anyone have any objections to this? Or anything else to add?”

Rintarou finds it surprising that the room remains soundless. He finds that the ginger with the unruly hair, the male with short sandy-grey locks and the light-haired individual standing next to Sakusa are staring nowhere in Kita’s direction, deliberately avoiding his solid gaze.

Akaashi and Bokuto are both staring at the ground, with the same intention. Rintarou is unsure how the others are behaving in reaction to this, but he thinks it can’t be too different from the reactions he’s seen.

Sakusa looks like he wants to butt in—say something—because Rintarou _knows_ that he wants to. 

He’s almost shocked that he doesn’t.

Instead, the curly-haired boy is making the short trek across the room. His quick strides and his side profile make it hard for Rintarou to tell what type of guise there is on his face. Kita is unfazed at his actions, but Rintarou knows that many of the other guys are shooting glances at him with mixed reactions. Sakusa subsequently leaves the room, the door clicking shut behind him.

The silence that follows is uncomfortable.

“Suna, do you have any objections to the second condition?” The sound of Kita’s voice reels him back, and Rintarou turns back to him obediently. Any thought of Sakusa disappears in his mind, for that fraction of a second. 

He gulps. His throat feels dry. 

“As long as you guys give me, like, a roll of tissue paper in case, I, uh, need to use the washroom while on the roof,” Rintarou manages to say, eliciting an amused glint in Kita’s eyes. He internally cringes at his words. Who in their right mind would say something like that? “Then no, I don’t have any objections.”

A neutral look adorns Kita’s face once he finishes. He nods, chest heaving. Rintarou spots Miya’s lips quirking upwards slightly at its edges at his response, entertained, but it might’ve just been his imagination. 

“If that is all settled then,” he glances around the space. “Get some sleep, everyone. It’s been a long day. The sun is already beginnin’ to set. Aran and I are on night watch duty first, so please, get the rest you need.” 

Bokuto, Akaashi, and the other four individuals that Rintarou wasn’t familiar with begin to file out of the room. He makes eye contact with the sandy-grey haired one, who looks away almost automatically, eyebrows furrowed as he walks side by side with the brunette he had been with before. Rintarou notices that the brunette in question looks troubled, barely sparing him a second glance as the four walk out of the room, heeding Kita’s soft orders. 

Rintarou takes note that the only ones left in the room were himself, Miya, the olive-haired guy who’d escorted him before, Kita, and Aran.

Kita turns to the olive-haired male and then to Miya. 

“Ushijima, Osamu, if you two don’t mind getting Suna the appropriate sleeping bags, blankets, and tent for tonight, and lead him up to the roof for me, I would appreciate it.”

Ushijima nods wordlessly at this, leaving the room first. Miya begins walking after him, with Rintarou following close behind. The boy in front of him stops for a second, backtracking, a look on his face that could only mean a silent _thank you_. 

Rintarou doesn’t know why Miya looks grateful. If anything, _he_ should have been thanking and bowing to Kita for allowing him to stay, not the other way around.

“I’m trusting you, Osamu.” Kita reminds him, his face serious but soft at the same time. “Please remember that.”

Miya nods at that, before he’s out the door. Rintarou allows himself to take a glance at Kita and Aran. He makes eye contact with Kita, and his sharp brown eyes have considerably softened while looking at him.

Rintarou looks away, but he could have sworn he saw small traces of a comforting smile on Kita’s face, tired but genuine. He doesn’t know for sure though.

Once he’s outside the room, Rintarou finds Miya and Ushijima waiting outside the door for him. Miya’s eyes seem to light up slightly at the sight of him, but Rintarou thinks that with the lighting and angle, he might have been imagining it. 

Ushijima stares at both of them, the familiar stoicness making an appearance. He motions for them with his hand to follow him, and the three of them begin their walk in the opposite direction of Akaashi’s makeshift infirmary. It allows for Rintarou to look around the winding hallways of the sports centre more. They’re likely approaching some sort of storage room where the group kept a variety of materials and items for survival, but he wouldn’t know for sure until they got there.

Ushijima walks considerably faster than him or Miya. Rintarou is walking with a limp due to his injuries, for fear of opening some of the cuts on his legs again, but Miya could walk faster. Instead, he’s walking at the rate Rintarou is, which is weird.

“We should probably catch up to him,” notes Rintarou absentmindedly.

He feels Miya’s eyes on him when, in his peripheral vision, he sees the boy’s head turn. “Yer injured,” his companion retorts. “Ushijima’ll understand why we aren’t goin’ as fast. Plus, he might not look it, but he’s a really kind and patient dude. Just quiet, I guess.” 

Rintarou registers his words, but they mostly go through one ear and out the other. He doesn’t expect his stay here to be that long—he already feels like he’s trespassing. There was no need to remember information about people he didn’t have any intention of connecting with.

“You can walk with _him,_ you know.” He mutters to Miya. “There’s no need to walk with me, especially since I’m walking so slowly.”

Not even a few seconds pass before Miya says, “Then who’ll be here to catch ya if ya fall?”

Rintarou blinks dumbly at that. Something warm erupts in his stomach—a brief fluttering feeling that vanishes rapidly. Even with its passing, the mere _thought_ of that line sends the slow beating of his heart into overdrive for a few seconds, before settling once more.

He doesn’t know if Miya realizes the slight romantic undertones of that line, but Rintarou doesn’t mention it, because the boy doesn’t either.

Instead, Rintarou chooses to change the subject altogether. 

“You didn’t have to do all that back there,” he utters quietly. “For me, I mean.”

For a while, no more words are exchanged. Just silence. Rintarou doesn’t dare take a peek at Miya’s face. He doesn’t want to know _what_ expression his unnecessary rescuer was making in reaction to his statement. If he came off as ungrateful or rude, then that definitely wasn’t his intention. 

And then, a sharp intake of breath.

“I told ya, didn’t I?” begins Miya softly. “I ain’t doin’ this for ya.”

Rintarou nods slowly in realization. He _did_ say that, didn’t he? Now he felt a little dumb. Miya had his own reasons for his actions, after all. It was bold of Rintarou to assume that he was doing this solely for _his_ sake.

“Then,” Rintarou feels awkward. “Thanks.”

“Huh?”

He feels the tips of his ears begin to burn red at Miya’s confusion, turning slightly pink, feeling a little flustered. Not in a romantic sense, but in a “I usually don’t express how I feel” sense.

Rintarou doesn’t want to repeat it, but he does. He takes a chance—greyish yellow orbs looking to his side at Miya. He’s a little startled to find that Miya is already observing him, and their eyes make contact.

“Thanks,” he manages. “For doing all of that back there. I appreciate it, Miya.”

Even more silence follows. Rintarou is, to be frank, getting a little fed up and is about to fill in the gaps of the conversation himself, when it’s filled with the surprising sound of Miya’s chuckles. They’re light, but at the same time, a rich rumble that Rintarou thinks he won’t ever get used to.

He doesn’t know why Miya is laughing, but it’s explained when the boy says: “Wow, that was the most awkward thanks I’ve ever received in my life,” he jests, through a snort. “Ya don’t talk to too many people, huh, Suna?” 

Rintarou is offended, but not as much as he thought he’d be. He still frowns jokingly, struggling to hide a smile. “I take it back.”

Miya laughs again. “It was a joke!” He exclaims, before quieting down. “But seriously, don’t mention it. I was just doin’—” he hesitates, choosing his words carefully. “—the right thing.”

“Not many people would.” Rintarou mentions. A lopsided grin subconsciously appears on his face. “Thought I’d be the first to commend you for it, since you don’t seem like the type to earn compliments very often.” 

“Have ya always been this snarky, Suna?”

Rintarou grins softly. “Just with you,” he replies smoothly. “If you think that’s snarky, wait till you get to know me.” 

From beside him, Miya smiles brightly. Rintarou notices that this smile is a little different from the few others that he’s seen Miya wearing. This one is energetic and earnest—no room for any sort of deception. His eyes reflect his smile this time. 

Rintarou knows what he said, but he’s unsure if that moment will ever come—if he’ll _allow_ for that moment to ever come and become a reality. 

“I look forward to that.” Miya comments, beaming next to him. Rintarou smiles slightly at this as well, his worries washing away, even if it was just for a brief moment.

“Oh, and Suna?” Miya calling his name snaps him out of whatever thought process he had been going through, his attention now fully directed towards him. 

His eyes remained questioning as he peered at the boy, who’s smile was too genuine and honest, for Rintarou to see any ill-intent or cheeky remark incoming.

Miya smiles. “Call me Osamu. It’s—” he stops. “—what most people call me. I’m not really used ta people usin’ my last name to refer to me. Ya heard Kita-san calling me that in there, didn’t ya?”

Rintarou pauses, before nodding. “Okay,” he breathes slowly. “Osamu it is, then.”

His mouth says the name so carefreely, that Rintarou is almost surprised at how easy it was to say his given name. It suit him perfectly. The name _Osamu_ had the sort of boyishness that fit its owner’s face and attitude completely.

“Are ya ever gonna tell me yer first name?” Osamu asks slowly from beside him.

Rintarou freezes at that. He doesn’t flinch, but it’s obvious that his body feels more solid when the question was directed at him. In hindsight, he doesn’t think he minds telling Osamu his first name at all. But then again, the mutual exchange of first names was something that close friends did. It meant familiarity, and Rintarou didn’t know if he was willing to let himself open up like that to Osamu. Or anyone else here.

Osamu seems to notice his rigidness, because he immediately moves to repair the situation. “Ah, ya don’t need to tell me or anythin’. I was just wonderin’, but you don’t ever have to tell me now. Or ever, if yer not comfortable with that.”

Rintarou shakes out of his stupor, looking at Osamu quietly. He watches the male look in front of him, before his gaze switches to the front as well, both of them facing Ushijima’s back. He makes do with a simple quirk of his lips, a little smug, and as Osamu put it, _snarky._

“I could tell you,” he starts. Beside him, Osamu noticeably perks up. He stops mid-sentence at this. Teasing and making fun of Osamu was so _fun_ , even if he was being a little bit mean. 

“But I think you have to earn it first,” Rintarou tells him brazenly.

Osamu’s eyes flutter several times at that, _indignant._ Rintarou hides a snicker threatening to come from his lips at his gobsmacked expression.

“Yer evil, Suna,” notes Osamu simply, shaking his head despite the bemused grin on his features.

“It comes from the heart,” hums Rintarou smugly. “Think you could do it?’

Osamu throws him an unreadable look. Rintarou remains unfazed. But the silence continues, and Rintarou thinks that Osamu might be thinking about this whole thing a little too hard.

“I’m just kidding,” he says hurriedly. “Don’t worry too much—”

“Nah, ‘s fine.” Osamu interrupts, effectively shutting Rintarou up. He turns his head, and he smiles. This time, it’s full with his teeth showing brightly at him, his eyes closing into a pleased eye smile.

Osamu beams. “I never back down from a challenge.”

Rintarou watches as Osamu turns back forward. The two continue to walk, pace quickening, but only slightly, so they wouldn’t get stray too far from Ushijima’s broad form. He hears his heartbeat ringing in his ears, slow and steady, but his chest feels warm.

If he got Osamu to smile like that more often—devoid of any unspoken melancholy and other emotions that Rintarou couldn’t read on his face—then, Rintarou thinks, he wouldn’t mind staying here.

Just for a little while.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kita is the best leader, I said what I said.
> 
> Once again, kudos, comments and feedback are greatly appreciated!
> 
> If you want to rave with me about Sunaosa or offer me feedback privately, or just wanna be friends, please don't hesitate to interact with me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/taekkotsu)! I just talk about Sunaosa and Inuokko on there though skdkskdh.


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